


Then Why Are We Still Talking?

by aerynthesebacean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, Romance, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11674077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerynthesebacean/pseuds/aerynthesebacean
Summary: Zevran and Amell both have their own demons. She just hides hers away from sight, ashamed and afraid. After Zevran's offer of a massage, she realises she will have to face those demons, sooner than she anticipated.





	Then Why Are We Still Talking?

Zevran held her hand loosely as they slunk their way back to his tent. His natural ability to seduce was not missed by Ophelia, in fact she cursed him for it. Her knees were weak enough physically, and his silky voice filling her ears with passionate intent only made things worse. But it made everything so much better.

The material opening silently shut behind them, leaving the two stood in silence, the bed ever seeming the elephant in the room. A sudden wave of nerves rushed over her as the assassin’s eyes swept across her, taking her in, his intent becoming ever clearer. It wasn’t that this was new to her, her short dalliance with Cullen in the Circle had given her enough experience to know what to expect. But it was only a dalliance, and she felt nothing for him, regardless of what she knew about how he felt towards her.

Yet the thought of the physical intimacy with Zevran wasn’t what terrified her to her very core. It was the way he would look at her once she removed her clothes. She expected disgust, she was weak, frail, and since leaving the Circle the treatment of her body had become less… careful. Circle members were regularly checked for cuts and scars, as humiliating as it was, it was a necessary measure in preventing rogue blood mages from appearing within their ranks. And so those who intended to harm themselves would instead have burns or small splashes of poison across their body, wounds easier to pass off as accidents.

Or mages with proficiency in healing, like Ophelia, would treat their wounds, leaving the skin scar free before the next check came around. But now, with the archdemon on their heels and the end of the world eminent, there were more pressing problems in the lives of her companions. Now there was no need for her to waste her energy and mana on hiding the multitude of wounds across her body, especially when hidden under the long mage robes she wore.

The thought of Zevran’s reaction terrified her. What if he took pity on her? What if he was disgusted by what she had done to herself? What if he thought she was a blood mage and vowed to never go near her again? Her eyes widened as she continued to look at him, her hands clasping and unclasping quickly, tremors slowly building in them. A concerned look grew over Zevran’s expression,

“Ophelia, is everything alright? This can all stop, if that is your wish.” He said calmly, making no attempt to move closer to her. She shook her head ever so slightly. “Then please, tell me what I should do.” Her vision blurred slightly as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, she attempted to swallow the dry lump in her throat before she spoke softly,

“I- I’m not what you want. I can’t be what you want, can I? Look at me.” The frustration built in her as she spoke, making the tears push themselves further into her vision. “My body-“ She continued, unsure of how to finish her sentence. “It’s horrible.” Her final words barely audible.

“Bella, how can you think that? You may think what lies underneath your robes is no good, but I can promise you it is a creation of the gods, worthy of praying to. And a shrine I intend to worship.” Zevran spoke, trying to reassure her, to assuage some of her doubts. He took a stride towards her, closing the gap that was between them before. Ophelia took a deep breath in and glanced up at him, his eyes were kind, asking nothing more of her than she was willing to give. Her breath trembled as she exhaled, her eyes flicked back down, and she rested her forehead on the leather plate of his chest armour. His arms wrapped around her, his embrace was warm and inviting, it was all that Ophelia had ever wanted, it was all that Ophelia had waited for.

His hands moved downwards, grazing the base of her spine before reaching the skirts of her robe, lifting them up. Ophelia lifted her arms up, allowing Zevran to remove the golden robe entirely, leaving her only in her underclothes. The elf smiled as his eyes were finally able to see more of the body he’d been aching to look at for longer than he would care to admit. As long as he had spent admiring her figure in her underwear, his eyes lingered on her legs far longer. Ophelia watched his expression change, the smile slipping off his lips,

“Is this what you were afraid of?” He asked, his voice calm.

“Yes.” She murmured. As soon as she spoke, Zevran dropped to his knees, the padding in his armour preventing any injury. He looked at the scars that covered the tops of her thighs, most of them still looked unhealed and painfully raw, whilst some had begun to heal, a subtler pink colour. “I- I’m not a blood mage,” Ophelia blurted out, the lie came easier than she expected.

“I didn’t for a moment think that you were, Bella. These wounds, what are they for?” He asked, his voice held no judgement, the life that he had lived and the things that he had done for the Crows meant that there was no room in his heart for judgment. There was too much blood on his hands for that.

Ophelia struggled to find an answer, as she fought to find one she watched Zevran as he continued to stare at her legs, sat on his haunches, simply observing in silence, waiting for her response.

“It’s always felt that the Maker was working against me. Everything good in my life has been taken away, and my very own body seems to betray me. I was an orphan, given to the Circle before I could remember, my lover left me without warning, I thought it was love but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be. There are spirits in the Fade that taunted me, tricked me, played a cruel joke on me and made me what I am. I don’t even know who my parents are, Zevran. I lie awake at night, my body aching for no reason. I want to know _why_ my life turned out this way. What have I done to deserve this constant torture? It must be my fault, no? Why else would the Maker punish me like this?”

“You think your god would be malicious enough to punish an innocent? Why have you never said anything? You have been suffering in silence all this time,”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone, the world is on the brink of destruction, my problems are nothing by comparison.” Ophelia replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“But it is best for you to be in good health, no? You are fighting a war, dear warden, and you are not fighting it alone.” Zevran said. Ophelia had no reply, but she no longer wished to talk about it anyway. She gently traced a finger along the side of his jaw, stopping as she reached the underside of his chin, she put slight upward pressure in her hand, hoping that he would stand up as she did. Zevran seemed to understand her silent instruction, as he stood up, and began to unbuckle the front of his armour. Ophelia simply watched in awe at the deftness of his fingers as they carefully worked at the fastenings of his armour, until he too was in nothing but underwear. “Well, a massage was promised, was it not?” Zevran continued.

“Then why are we still talking?”


End file.
